Chillin', Illin'
by The Illustrious Crackpot
Summary: Princess Bubblegum takes a break, but taking breaks doesn't really seem to agree with her... (Somewhat Fubblegummy.)


_A/N: This story takes place in season six, shortly after "The Pajama Wars." Commissioned by Unioke on deviantART.  
_

**Chillin', Illin'**

(The Illustrious Crackpot)

"Whoops! Watch your step!"

Finn was laughing even as he hit the smushy yellow ground, having slipped on one of the treacherous buttercups. The sound was so genuine and unrestrained that it brought a smile to my lips.

"That's what you get for _running_ in Margarine Pastures," I teased, hitching my skirt as I picked my way through the uniquely slimy foliage.

"Yo, it was totes worth it." He rolled over before standing up, leaving streaks of mashed buttercups all across his legs. "I'm just tryin' to be as wild and carefree as you, Princess. Leaving Pepbutts in charge of Hot Dog Princess's diplomatic delegation party while you hang out in a field? That's some hardcore chill right there."

"Ha, yeah." I kept the grin in place, but it wasn't really genuine anymore. Finn didn't seem to notice. "I'm trying."

My legs, unlike Finn's, were still a shiny pink with just a few errant freckles of butter around the ankles. My hair was pristine, my outfit practically unblemished. I hardly looked like I'd been traipsing through a sticky field of naturally-occurring fat products.

I slowly released my grip on my skirt and eyed the buttercup growing directly in front of me. Sunlight glinted off of its creamy yellow petals. I lifted my foot and stomped on it. A thick, gooey ooze immediately began seeping through my shoes and into my socks. I grimaced.

"Hardcore chill".

I thought about pulling out the licorice tie and letting my hair down. I wondered if that would be weird. Then I realized that worrying about the thing was even more un-chill than not doing the thing.

Sigh.

"C'mon, Peebs, step it up!"

"_I'm trying_," I grumbled, referring more to my internal dilemma than the rapid pace Finn wanted me to match. I tried, _really_ tried to make my footsteps reckless, but centuries of strict self-discipline still had control over my body. Even at this speed, I still managed to weave deftly between almost all of the buttercups and maintained perfect balance the few times I trod on some.

Ahead, Finn was skipping gaily, flailing his arms and faceplanting more often than not. But he was enjoying himself. He was just...he was just doing _whatever_. Could he even understand how hard this was for me? How hard it was for me to relinquish my responsibilities, to even _try_ to make myself take a step without looking?

Did he know how hard it was for me to hang out with him?

These weren't very chill thoughts. I tried not to have them. But then I got caught back in the logic cycle that trying at all was un-chill, then tried to just chilly let my thoughts wander freely, but of course my thoughts returned to the stressful above and everything started over again.

Finn had stopped short suddenly, and I could have run into him if I'd been _truly_ chill and relaxed and free-spirited and not looking where I was going. But I automatically stopped short before I reached him, then cursed myself for being so uptight and in-control.

"'Sup?" I managed to squeeze out in between my internal meltdowns.

Finn pointed wordlessly.

We'd reached the center of Margarine Pastures, I Can't Believe It's Not A Lake Lake. (The origin of this name has been lost to history.) I'd seen it before, hundreds of times—the soft, rolling cream waves, the glimmering oily surface, hordes of butterflies flapping their squelchy wings as they flittered over it. It was beautiful. It had always been beautiful. But I saw this from a purely analytical standpoint. I didn't really _feel_ it. Not the way I thought I should.

I opened my mouth to say that it was "pretty", then closed it again, having already begun to overthink it. Finn merely let out an appreciative whistle. I wished I could be that spontaneous.

"Welp, this has def gotta be our picnic spot," Finn finally said, slipping off his backpack and sitting heavily on the soft earth. It made a wet farting sound, and I couldn't help but laugh. It felt good. Unfortunately, I spoiled it by glancing down and carefully gathering my skirts before I sat beside him.

Finn was obliviously rummaging through his backpack, searching through miscellaneous (mostly broken) knickknacks for the scraps we'd broken off of Toasty Bridge on our way here. He was completely covered in butter smudges, and his tongue kept poking out to lick as much off of his face as he could reach. It would have been far more effective for him to grab a mirror and just use a piece of toast to scrape the tasty mess off, but of course he didn't think like that. That, in and of itself, was unspeakably wonderful.

I wanted to touch him, to "accidentally" brush my hand against his arm. But as soon as I caught myself thinking about it I realized it was too late for it to truly be impulsive, so I refrained.

"Here ya go!" he piped up, and I suddenly became aware of a piece of toast in my face. Finn's face was not too far behind it. I must have been leaning toward him without realizing. Well, at least I had _some_ absentminded behaviors going on.

Finn's expression turned concerned, and I began to panic. "Hey...are you all—"

"FINE!" I blurted, ripping the toast from his hand and shoving it into my mouth. It was hard and dry and I hated it, but I crunched it as loudly as I could to drown out my thoughts. I needed to just _not think_.

"Pfff, you don't need to be _that_ wild and reckless, P-bubs..."

I jumped, applying his words to my accidental inner monologue. But Finn was laughing. "At least slow down enough to scoop up some of this delish I Can't Believe It's Not A Lake. That's what we came here for, right?"

I swallowed carefully, controlling my breathing (even though I argued this point with myself vigorously). Finn was still grinning as he offered me another piece of toast, and I tried to grin as I took it, but all the thoughts came flooding back as I dipped the toast into the lake.

I let go. I tried not to think about it, but I _did_, in the instant before my fingers moved.

The toast drifted slowly towards the horizon.

Finn didn't speak, but I could feel his eyes on me. I didn't want to think about that either. I didn't want to think about anything anymore. I was so tired of thinking, but it seemed like I couldn't stop.

I let myself fall flat on my back, squishing softly into the ground.

"...Do you wanna talk about it?"

His voice was soft and uncomfortable, but he said it. This was his most heroic quality, his willingness to plunge ahead despite all the obstacles, even his own fear of the unknown. It's something I'd always...

"There's something I want," I whispered, safe behind shut eyes. "Something I'm not ready to have."

"Princess...?"

Maybe the stress had been too much, maybe my lack of sleep last night was affecting my behavior, or maybe I was just trying to distract attention away from my almost-admission. Whatever the cause, my next words came out loud and hoarse, hurting my throat. "_I'M NOT 'CHILL', FINN!_ I'm the _opposite_ of chill! I don't know if I've even got any chill _in_ me!" I was already almost out of breath, grinding my palms against my eyelids. "Do you see how much butter is on my dress?"

"Uh...n-not really, cus I bet most of it's on your back and I can't see—"

"_EXACTLY!_ We're in _Margarine Pastures_, Finn! _You_ look like someone tried to bake you into a croissant! _I_ look like maybe someone peed on me by accident!"

"Um...um..." He was really struggling now. Guilt began to sober me up. "So...you're upset because...I'm messy...?"

"No, Finn. No. ...No."

I sat up slowly, the sticky ground almost refusing to let me go.

"I'm upset because I'm _not_ messy," I said, rubbing my forehead. I wasn't ready to open my eyes and look at him yet. He was _so close_. "We're in Margarine Pastures, and you're a mess because you're having fun, while I've been watching _every single step_ I've taken. I'm not chill. I don't 'go with the flow'. I plan, and I analyze, and I _think_, and that's why I'm upset."

We sat in silence for a while. I kept trying not to think, but at this point it was impossible.

"Peebles," Finn said at last, and the feeling of warm breath on my face made me jerk backwards in shock. He was leaning into me, so close I could've kissed him, but his face showed nothing but concern. "Peebles...what do you think 'chill' means?"

"Huh?"

" 'Chill'. What does it mean to you?"

It seemed so obvious, I couldn't see what he was getting at. "Not thinking. Not planning. Just...just _doing_."

"_Pbbbbbt_. Then there's your problem."

Finn fell back on his butt, squelching into the mud with a lopsided grin. " 'Not thinking' isn't being chill, P-bubs. It's just 'not thinking'. It's being dumb—or, like, 'careless', I guess. Let's be fair here."

My brow crinkled in confusion, but his smile only widened.

"You think about stuff, like, all the time! And that's cool! That's who you are. That's why you're so good at being a princess."

"...And why I'm so bad at having fun," I muttered, but Finn clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

"You're bad at having fun cus you're _trying_ too hard, not cus you're thinking."

"It's the same thi—"

"Nope, nope."

I quickly shifted my gaze towards the lake, concentrating as hard as I could on the lapping of the waves to try to keep myself in check. This conversation was becoming frustrating. Finn just didn't _get_ it.

"It's because you're _trying not to think_," he said slowly and calmly. "_That's_ why you're upset."

He was still smiling when I looked back at him. Was he amused by my confusion, or smug over having the advantage over me? I'd give anything to know.

"Thinking's what you do. Being chill is about doing what you do. You _thought_ long 'n' hard about whether it'd work to dump princess duties on Peppermint Butler and come hang out with me, right? You _chose_ to take some time off and _planned_ how you were gonna do it. That's how you do chill. That's how chill works for _you_."

A blueprint of the entire universe fell open at my feet.

Finn laughed when he saw my expression. "You got it now?"

My response was to fling my arms around him. He let out a squeak as I crushed his ribs, but soon enough the hug was reciprocated.

I smiled as I thought of something.

In an instant we had somersaulted into the lake, Finn shouting with surprise as I laughed uproariously. It was thoroughly disgusting, even worse than I'd imagined, but I laughed anyway and it was genuine. Then Finn was laughing, and he splashed thick globs of butter at me, and I hurled some back, and soon enough it was an all-out war of shoving and smiling.

This didn't really solve anything, I knew that. I still had a lot to work on. A lot to...think about. A lot of practice being chill _my way_ before I'd become chill enough to be able to follow some of those thoughts.

But, I decided as I pressed my lips to Finn's salty forehead and watched the blush spread across his face, it'd all be worth the wait.


End file.
